


Foolproof

by paperclipbutterfly



Series: Non-Canon Black Jack One-Shots [4]
Category: Black Jack Original Comics, Zootopia (2016)
Genre: April Fools' Day, F/M, Fluff, Hiccups, inspired by real life events, rated teen for Maria's language, spent an entire day hiccupping, suffering zebra bun, tortured by hiccups, would not recommend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-17 04:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14180361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbutterfly/pseuds/paperclipbutterfly
Summary: Jack Savage's normal workday is interrupted by an attack of... hiccups.





	Foolproof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aoimotion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aoimotion/gifts).



> In the spirit of April Fools Day, I write a little fanfic in which I make Jack Savage feel very much a fool. I cackled in my car when this idea came to me. _Cackled_ , I say.
> 
> For those of you who may be new to this series, the characters here are OCs belonging to aoimotion, and I have her permission to write them.
> 
> I do hope you all enjoy. :)

_This is it,_ Jack Savage thought as he thunked his head down on the desk in dramatic misery. _This is how it all ends. What an unremarkable way to go out._

He had given it plenty of thought before, of course, just how his time as a secret agent would finally conclude. He really thought it would be something exciting and dangerous that would do him in. A duel with a worthy adversary. A doomsday device with no remote shut off.  Making the ultimate sacrifice. A _bullet_ , for crying out loud. Jack never imagined for an instant that _this_ was how his career would end, not with a bang but with a… hiccup.

It wasn’t even anything particularly out of the ordinary that caused it, either. He was just enjoying a hot morning beverage in the breakroom when his assistant, Zac, got his tail beneath the leg of his chair as he sat down. As one might expect, he immediately made that typical high-pitched yowling yelp that cats tend to make when hurt.

Right in Jack’s ear.

While he didn’t usually startle—years of training had whittled his startle reflex to almost nothing—the perfectly pitched shriek coupled with its close proximity to Jack’s long and sensitive ears had his heart leaping into his throat and his feet taking similar action from off the floor. The cup of tea hit the tile, and he landed back on the ground half sputtering as he gulped the small amount of liquid he had successfully managed to take into his mouth with two more parts air.

“Heaven’s sake, Zac, do you think you could be a bit _louder_?” he scolded after he’d recovered his composure. “I don’t think they— _hic_ —heard you in— _hic_ —Guam.”

“Sorry, boss,” the tabby cat said sheepishly as he rubbed the sore spot on his tail between his paws, not realizing yet what he’d done. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yes, well, just— _hic_ —be more mindful— _hic_ —of your surroundings— _hic_ —next time.”

And _now_ Zac heard it very clearly, and he couldn’t help grinning wide at the tiny, squeaky, periodic hitching sound that was interrupting his boss’s speech. He listened with his ears turned full forward as Jack stooped down to clean up the puddle of spilled tea with a paper towel.

“Chief, do you… did I give you the _hiccups_?” he asked, stifling a chuckle as he dug in his pants pocket for his cellphone to document the hilarity that was unfolding before him.

Jack stood and regarded his assistant with an ominously dark expression. “You’ll begin that— _hic_ —recording at your— _hic_ —peril,” he warned, but the broken sentence had no bite with the sporadic catching breaths thrown in, and Zac burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said as he returned his cellphone to his pocket, doing his best to curb his snickering and failing spectacularly, “but it’s… it’s kind of funny.”

“Yes, _hilarious_ ,” Jack managed to say before another hiccup hit him. He threw the soiled paper towel into the trash and straightened his tie. “Hiccups are just spa— _hic_ —asms in the dia— _hic_ —phragm. They should— _hic_ —pass in short— _hic_ —order.”

But they didn’t.

By lunchtime Jack was visibly starting to fray at the seams. The fact that his coworkers had made it a point to “drop by” his office throughout the morning to witness the predicament in which he had found himself further exacerbated his discomfort and mounting embarrassment. He could still hear Maria’s shrill, maniacal laughter ringing in his ears.

The only silver lining that he could find in the storm clouds that started his day was that Walker hadn’t seen him in this state yet. What she was doing he couldn’t guess, but for the moment it seemed that she had (again) decided to skip lunch and remain holed up in her office.

For once, Jack was supportive of that decision.

After nearly inhaling his yogurt twice due to poorly timed hiccups, and bracing against another volley of snickers, he was beyond done. Jack was not one to suffer being made a fool of, and he certainly felt one. The jeers of enemies he could withstand, but of friends and of colleagues… it was a deeper cutting kind of mocking that hit in younger, more vulnerable places. It was exhausting, and he was through.

“Any suggestions— _hic_ —would be most— _hic_ —appreciated about now,” Jack said with weary aggravation to the other mammals at the table watching him in amusement.

Of course, that was certainly _not_ the right course of action for looking less foolish. His colleagues, though well-meaning, were about as helpful as a chocolate teapot. They subjected the stricken hare to all the most common supposedly foolproof cures, from drinking while upside down to holding his breath to pulling out his tongue. They unsuccessfully tried to scare him again, made him drink soda pop, and swallow spoonfuls of sugar (much to his stomach’s dismay). Jack drew the line after Maria suggested that a little ‘afternoon delight’ would take care of the issue in a jiffy.

“What?” the meerkat asked with an evil smirk after Jack gave her the most mortified look. “That always gets rid of mine.”

But even after he’d been poked and prodded and half drowned, the dreaded _hics_ still returned, and seemed to dig even deeper into his now exhausted abdominal muscles.

Jack wondered what living with hiccups forever would be like.

He hadn’t considered the latent ramifications of these sharp, breathy spasms until he was preparing for his reconnaissance assignment after lunch. One squeaky hiccup was all it took before he was very respectfully laughed off the team; there was no place for a mammal who was incapable of keeping silent on such a delicate mission. He was relegated to his office for the rest of the day until he got a hold of himself.

Which was where Jack began to lament the looming end of his distinguished career. He sent Zac off on errands after the repentant cat had apologized for the eightieth time to his clearly dejected boss and made the mistake of searching the internet for the longest recorded unbroken attack of the hiccups.

The afternoon dragged on and on, dotted with the continuous and intermittent _hics_ that ticked the time like a broken clock, a water torture replaced instead with a cold dripping sound that he was certain was slowly hollowing him out inside. Soon he’d be nothing but a half-mad, twitching jackrabbit covered in striped fur and filled only with hiccups.

***** 

The workday was nearly over by the time Cynthia was able to emerge from her office victorious. All the brutally dry data was organized and scrubbed to a polished shine, and she could allow herself a little break before starting to pull the whole report together for her meeting with the Colonel tomorrow.

Feeling very pleased with her excellent and insightful analysis, she headed to the breakroom for a late lunch type meal from the vending machine. She figured that at this time of day it was probably empty of other mammals, especially…

 _Oh, damn it all, why._ The arctic vixen bristled to see the familiar figure of Jack Savage standing in front of the beverage dispenser, shoulders slumped and staring at the choices before him with the blankest expression. The last mammal Cynthia wanted there, the grating peanut gallery who couldn’t help but comment critically on her choice of food every time he found her in front of the vending machines. Already she anticipated a spat, and her triumphant mood took a nosedive into bitterness.

She put her hackles back down and stepped around him. “I thought you were on assignment today,” she said evenly in an attempt to be civil.

Jack didn’t speak, but just pointed at his throat as yet another squeaky _hic_ escaped and gave a little whimpering whine. He braced himself for the stinging mockery he was certain was coming; Walker would never waste this chance to take a dig at him.

He wasn’t wrong, but while she did give a little half a chuckle in response it sounded much more skeptical than it did teasing. “Yeah, right, sure.” Cynthia blinked as Jack pressed his forehead against the vending machine in misery and hiccupped again. “Wait, s _till_? Since this morning? Really?”

“Who— _hic_ —told you?” Jack asked, his voice barely a murmur as his ears actually drooped down to either side of his head.

Cynthia crossed her arms and leaned against the other vending machine with only just the slightest smirk. “Stella mentioned something in passing. Now that I think of it, I don’t recall her smiling quite so hard… well, _ever_.”

“So glad every— _hic_ —one is having— _hic_ —a good laugh— _hic_ —at my expense.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jack, it’s just hiccups. Don’t be such a drama llama. They’ll go away eventually.”

“Or they won’t.” He looked at her with melodramatic despair that contrasted sharply with another squeaky hitch. “You know what— _hic_ —the record is— _hic_ —for longest case of— _hic_ —the hiccups?” She cocked her head to the side in mild inquiry. “Sixty-eight years. _Hic_. Straight.” He turned his head to gaze back down at the floor. “The poor schmuck— _hic_ —died hiccupping.”

Cynthia gave a derisive and impatient snort. “For the love of… now you’re just being ridiculous.”

It should have been comical to her but seeing Jack in this state was… a bit worrisome. Even a little pathetic. Like he actually believed that he was going to be oppressed by these silly little spasms for the rest of his life. Big, bad, super secret agent Jack Savage undone by a case of the hiccups.

She considered, and then sighed. “Would you like me to help you get rid of them?”

Jack’s head snapped around to find an almost sympathetic look on Cynthia’s face, and for a split-second Maria’s suggestion of an ‘afternoon delight’ flashed the back of his eyes. He backed into the wall stammering beneath sudden panic and, of course, more hiccups.

“I… that is — _hic_ —you don’t— _hic_ — have to… I— _hic_ — wouldn’t ask you for— _hic_ — not like that— _hic_ —at _all_ …”

Cynthia backed off immediately and threw her arms stiff down to her sides. Her ears burned hot that just the very notion of her offering him assistance even now would be so abhorrent to him.

She gave an irritated huff to cover her humiliation and started to leave, compelled to get away even if it meant forgoing the snack that she had come for. “Well, _fine then._ If it’s such a revolting prospect I won’t twist your arm—”

Jack sidestepped to block her path, and even as she glared at him down a wrinkled muzzle attempted to salvage his response. “Wait, please don’t— _hic_ — leave. I think— _hic_ —I just had a— _hic_ —war flashback to— _hic_ —earlier attempts.” He clasped his paws in front of him imploringly. “I apologize for— _hic_ — my poor reac— _hic_ —tion. Yes, Walker, what— _hic_ —would you suggest?”

Cynthia searched his face, and smoothed the creases from her snout and forehead upon finding only genuine sincerity there. She grabbed hold of his jacket sleeve and dragged him over to one of the chairs amidst a barrage of more hiccups.

“Sit here,” she ordered as he plopped down into it. She stood in front of him and hovered her paws on either side of his head.

Jack glanced to either side of him warily. “Are you going to— _hic_ —box my ears?”

“Don’t tempt me.” Cynthia said, holding her position. “Put your ears up and close your eyes. Count to yourself until they’re gone.”

He looked up at her doubtfully. “I don’t see— _hic_ —what good _counting_ — _hic_ —is going to do.”

Cynthia flicked his forehead, relishing only just slightly the venomous glare he gave her. “You’re being such a baby.” She put her paws back. “Ears up, eyes closed. I promise this is foolproof. Even you can’t screw it up.” She locked her amber eyes onto his ice blue ones with a warm and straightforward candor that Jack wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever seen in them before. “Trust me.”

 _Foolproof, huh?_ How many times had he heard that word today? Jack put his ears up and took an aching, hiccup-laced breath as he closed his eyes. _One… two… three…_

The rhythm of counting settled snugly between the hiccups, and Jack was very sure he’d reach infinity before whatever magic Walker insisted would happen actually did.

Then he felt her paws around him.

Not all of him, of course; just his head around his ears. There was a brief instant when he lost track of the counting and stiffened at her touch, willing himself to maintain some semblance of indifference when a feeling he didn’t have a word for was rushing over him instead. Jack’s heart thundered in his eardrums as she pressed into the base of his ears, a firm but gentle pressure, and massaged them in little circles between her paw pads. He was melting, his insides turning to liquid, loosening and then… stilling.

Cynthia Walker was the magic, and Jack didn’t even realize he was free until she told him so.

The pleasant, almost tender caresses ceased and Cynthia drew her paws back as he opened his eyes. “And that should do it.”

He waited in the silence expecting the worst, to have his hope snatched away from him, but that didn’t happen. The stillness, the quiet, the relief was palatable, and he drank it in eagerly, savoring every sweet, unbroken breath.

“They’re… they’re gone.”

She straightened up and shot him the smuggest smile as she walked back over to the vending machine. “You’re welcome.”

Jack stared after her. “How did you do that?”

Cynthia perused the selections in the window as she pointed at her own ears. “Pressure points. The counting is a distraction so you stop thinking about it while the muscle relaxes. What kind of nonsense did you try, anyway? No wonder you were wound up tighter than a cheap watch.” She pressed the buttons on the machine and watched the bag of fried something or another fall down from the spiral into the bin. “It’s common knowledge that stress makes hiccups worse, you know. I’m not surprised they hung on for such a—”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence, freezing with cold dread beneath the unmistakable, mildly awkward sensation of Jack Savage actually hugging her. Her fur puffed as a fluttering rose inside from the clumsy embrace that had both her arms pinned.

“Uh… Jack?”

“You’re amazing.” The smile on his face was stupid happy, almost giddy. “Let me do something for you. Anything. Whatever you want, just name it.”

She snorted. “You can get off me and let me get my lunch in peace for once.”

Jack’s expression changed to one of alarm as he realized just where his elation had unwittingly placed him. He released his hold immediately and backed up three paces, clearing his throat and loosening his collar self-consciously. “Ah, yes, of course… done.” He gave Cynthia a wide berth as he edged around her. “I’d better, ah… better get some actual work accomplished before the day ends.”

“Right.” She stooped down to retrieve her snack from the slot as he started out of the breakroom. “Agent Savage?”

He froze in the doorway and turned back in trepidation at the sound of a voice that somehow managed to be both fire and ice at the same time. “Yes…?”

“Just so we’re clear… if you mention this to anyone I’ll tear your lungs out through your knee caps. Then you’ll never have to worry about hiccups again. Are we on the same page?”

Jack gulped. The warm fuzzy moment, assuming it ever existed, had apparently passed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now go away.”

He obeyed her request without another word, and she watched him leave just from the corner of her eye until he was gone. She sighed and clutched the snack bag to her chest as she shook out her fur with a scowl.

Brazen hare, what was he _thinking_ , hugging her? And it wasn’t even a _good_ hug. It was gawky and graceless and… and heartfelt, and unreserved, and felt like something that very nearly approached affection. Her heart stuttered and leapt up alongside the fluttering in her stomach, and her next breath snagged in her throat.

“… _hic_.”

Cynthia stared at her horror-struck reflection in the glass window of the vending machine. _Oh, you son of a…_


End file.
